


beyond north, fire to ice

by juryrouge



Series: an unkindness [2]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Angst, Canon Universe, Falbarry, Fort Briggs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-29
Updated: 2020-02-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:28:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22961689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/juryrouge/pseuds/juryrouge
Summary: In the cold of Fort Briggs, the only company Falman had were his thoughts.
Relationships: Barry the Chopper/Vato Falman
Series: an unkindness [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1582072
Comments: 6
Kudos: 28





	beyond north, fire to ice

**Author's Note:**

> hello and welcome to my next installment. thank you to arianeige for being such a wonderful beta. hope you all enjoy! rated t for falman's angst.
> 
> -jury

Vato Falman couldn’t feel his hands. Storming winds whipped against him, biting at his face and clawing at his throat. Each breath came out in a stutter as his teeth chattered. The great Fort Briggs, renowned for its strength and endurance and resolve, was more of a prison to Falman. He didn’t have the entire story, but he knew Team Mustang was scattered throughout Amestris, torn apart and weakened. Falman was unfortunate enough to have been sent north; his constant companions were Briggs’ unkindness and unyielding frost. 

A shiver ran through Falman’s body. The sun was beginning to rise -- he must have been out in the cold for an hour at this point. After about a week stationed at Briggs, he was assigned to clean the icicles hanging from the metal walls that made up the fort. The work was grueling and the walls seemed to go on for centuries. Falman’s arms easily grew numb, but it at least made it easier to ignore the soreness that ran through his body. 

At first, ignoring the pain was all he could think about; Falman was part of intelligence in Team Mustang, and he didn’t want to fully admit just how out of shape he had gotten. He could imagine Havoc laughing in his head. But once his body got used to the work, his mind would wander. 

How was Lieutenant Hawkeye? Did she still have Black Hayate? Were the Elric brothers keeping out of trouble? Was Havoc still holding onto hope? What was Breda up to? 

Was Feury still alive?

The icepick was heavy in Falman’s hand. He wondered how Barry found it so easy to always swing that cleaver around. He remembered how effortlessly Barry would hold it, as though it weighed nothing. Could he do the same back when he wasn’t a suit of armor? 

During their time together, Barry would mention this _lack of warmth_ , like something was missing inside of him, leaving him with an aching emptiness. Hollow. Falman knew he would never truly experience this feeling himself, but he thought that’s what Briggs felt like. 

It reminded Falman of the feeling he had when Riza told him Barry was gone.

Falman kept picking away at the ice, ignoring the sting in his eyes. He wondered if someone like Barry the Chopper would like Fort Briggs. He would probably love the people, fiery and resolute; Barry’s voice echoed in his head: ‘they’d make for more interesting prey’, he would say as he giggled. Barry wouldn’t like all the rules. Fort Briggs functioned as one cohesive unit, an unbreakable force that everyone was part of. Falman could imagine Barry, a wrench thrown amongst the cogs in the wheel, trying to cause chaos only to be crushed by someone like Armstrong.

Falman didn’t want to admit it, but honestly, Barry would probably want to be crushed by Major General Olivier Mira Armstrong. 

Falman also didn’t want to admit that he was getting jealous of his own thoughts. He kept picking at the ice, the sun high in the sky. It was beaming down, but he couldn’t feel its warmth. 

He began to paint a different picture in his head, imagining himself and Barry at Briggs. Barry would try to sell him hot chocolate worth hundreds of cens and they would pass the night playing chess. Barry would make fun of Roy Mustang and fawn over his cleaver and the two would fight over the newspaper -- not because Barry wanted to read it, but because he enjoyed bothering the other man. He wouldn’t make fun of Falman for being cold.

He almost laughed to himself -- what a sight that would be. Vato Falman and Barry the Chopper, side by side, ready to take on the north and beyond.

Falman heard heavy, thudding footsteps approach him. A gait so loud could only belong to one person. “How long have you been up, Second Lieutenant?” Captain Buccaneer greeted, his voice low and gruff.

“Since before the sun rose,” Falman responded. He hoped that Buccaneer couldn’t tell he was panting.

“So not that long.”

Falman stood there awkwardly, not quite knowing how to respond. Barry would probably laugh, but Barry was basically bad decision after bad decision all wrapped up in a suit of armor. Falman continued on with his assigned task, hoping the burly man would keep walking. 

He didn’t because that was Falman’s luck. 

“You’re weak and your arms are sticks,” Buccaneer stated. “General Armstrong told us as much before you arrived. When she heard one of Mustang’s men was transferring here, she was quick to scowl.” Falman already knew about General Armstrong’s disdain for anything having to rhyme with ‘Moy Rustang.’ But besides scolding him and piling on Briggs’ dirty work, the woman had hardly spoken to him. 

Falman brushed some of the ice that had fallen on his military coat. “Though I need to get stronger, I’m glad that I can help around the fort.” He hoped Buccaneer wouldn’t pick up on fear in his voice. If Barry were here, he would laugh at Falman’s discomfort. 

Buccaneer let out a hearty chuckle. “Yeah, you’ve gotta build up your muscle! Now that you’ve been taken off the career track-”

“Wait, what.”

“-there’s not much else you can do besides pick ice and mop floors.”

Buccaneer spoke to him for a few more minutes before returning to his own duties. Falman let out a sigh of relief -- talking to the captain was a daunting task. After another hour, Falman finished his job. He returned his equipment to the supply room before heading to the opposite side of the fort for a break. The cold had set into his bones and he needed something to warm him up. Briggs didn’t have hot water -- lukewarm at best -- and the only thing that could break the chill was a cup of steaming hot chocolate or coffee. Falman did not have enough money to get ripped off every day, so he trekked to the breakroom to make his own cup of coffee. It was always bitter and gritty. 

A shiver ran down Falman’s spine and as he turned the corner of the hallway, he saw her. 

“Stand there,” General Armstrong commanded. Her voice was colder than the winds outside and her eyes, blue as frozen water, pierced his soul. 

Falman saluted her. His hand was shaking. 

“Stop being so heartbroken, it’s pathetic,” she said. Her hand rested on her hip, her feet planted firm on the group. Her presence took up the entire room. 

“Yes, sir!”

As she passed him, she murmured one last sentiment. “Men with cracks in their resolve don’t survive the north. Their fire turns to ice; those kinds of men stand for nothing.”

“Yes, sir,” Falman said one last time. 

He missed Central City. He missed Team Mustang. He missed his family. 

He missed Barry.


End file.
